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That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
Lawyer
Pastor
Poet
Politician
Songwriter
Translator
Writer
London
England
Very Rev. John Donne
Else
Lovers
Affections
May
Prison
Faculties
Soul
Reach
Deceit
Must
Lies
Prince
Great
Pure
Faculty
Apprehend
Men
Lying
Subtle
Knot
Sense
Affection
Descend
Makes
Souls
Knots

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Sleep with clean hands, either kept clean all day by integrity or washed clean at night by repentance.
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True joy is the earnest which we have of heaven, it is the treasure of the soul, and therefore should be laid in a safe place, and nothing in this world is safe to place it in.
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God made sun and moon to distinguish the seasons, and day and night and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons. But God hath made no decrees to distinguish the seasons of His mercies. In Paradise the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in heaven it is always autumn. His mercies are ever in their maturity.
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When I died last, and, Dear, I die As often as from thee I go Though it be but an hour ago, And lovers' hours be full eternity.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.
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As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.
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And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?
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I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure Time shall not lose our passages.
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I am a little world made cunningly.
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Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.
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Kind pity chokes my spleen.
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If every gnat that flies were an archangel, all that could but tell me that there is a God and the poorest worm that creeps tells me that.
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All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.
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There is no health physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
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Can there be worse sickness, than to know that we are never well, nor can be so?
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
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At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences men of wit and delightful conversation, but as morals for ornament, except they be so incorporated into the body of the world that they contribute something to the sustentation of the whole.
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If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the other do.
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